What are you willing to sacrifice to be a musician?

What are you willing to sacrifice to chase this dream?

Every musician I admired—young or old—seemed to have paid a heavy price to pursue their craft.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Sacrifice is part of the deal in any career, not just music.

I thought it would mean giving up things like:

• Going out every weekend.

• Spending money on luxuries I didn’t need.

• Choosing study over playing video games.

But when I asked seasoned musicians—those who’d been in the industry for a decade or more—their answers shook me.

They didn’t just talk about small sacrifices. They talked about losing:

• Partners.

• Family.

• Friendships.

• Regular meals.

• Routine doctor’s visits.

And what struck me most?

They shared these sacrifices without so much as a pause, as if it were normal.

Even as a young musician, I struggled to make sense of it. Why were we all so willing to give up so much?

But despite my unease, I found myself asking the same question:
"What am I willing to sacrifice to be a musician?"

Sacrifice was my currency for success.

It wasn’t a decision I made consciously—it felt like an unspoken agreement, a toll every musician had to pay.

But over time, that feeling of sacrifice grew heavier, and I started questioning what it was all for.

Because the truth is, the road we walk is tough, and not everyone makes it

The harsh reality of our industry is that most musicians won’t “make it.”

I’m not even talking about becoming the next Ed Sheeran or Taylor Swift. I’m talking about the many talented musicians scraping by, clinging to gigs at run-down bars, barely making enough to pay rent, and desperately chasing a dream that grows fainter every year.

I knew this reality, yet I still fell into the trap.

Between 2017 and 2022, I sacrificed friendships, family, and even time with my girlfriend—all in the name of my career.

Sure, I saw them regularly. But I cut dinners short because “I have to practice.” I skipped gatherings because “there’s work to be done.”

And they were understanding—too understanding. My best friend started pushing me out the door early, knowing I’d rush home anyway.

The tipping point came on my girlfriend’s 22nd birthday.

She’d planned a lovely dinner—just the two of us. A chance to celebrate her, to pause, to reconnect.

But I didn’t show up.

Instead, I chose to jam with two guitar friends.
I convinced myself it was “important.” I told her it was “planned in advance.”

But the truth?

It wasn’t important. It wasn’t urgent.
And still, I chose it over her.

Worse, I gaslit her—telling her I’d mentioned it earlier, pretending it was fine, as if she should understand.

That night, something inside me shifted. I realized how toxic and warped my mindset had become.

I had bought into the lie that being a musician meant sacrificing everything—relationships, health, happiness—for the sake of “the craft.”

But at what cost?

Since that night, I’ve been on a rocky road with music. Some days, it’s my lifeline. Other days, I question why I take it so seriously.

I’ve learned this: Music doesn’t ask for everything. We give it willingly, thinking it’s the price of success. But the truth?

The best music doesn’t come from sacrificing your health or your loved ones. It comes from balance.

That’s why I’ve shifted my focus. I still work hard, but I make space for joy.

When I teach at my music school, I remind my tutors to make lessons enjoyable—not just for the kids but for themselves. When I work on my own music, I remind myself to have fun, to stay present, to create without the weight of unrealistic expectations.

This same principle applies to musicians who are entering the content creation game.

There’s nothing wrong with creating and sharing your work online. But when you’re doing it because you “have to” or because some algorithm guru tells you to, it stops being fun.

And when the fun is gone, what’s the point?

So the next time someone asks, “What are you willing to sacrifice to be a musician?” maybe it’s time to ask yourself:

• What am I willing to keep?

• What will I protect in the name of my art, my joy, and my peace?

Because the music, the real music, doesn’t come from the sacrifice of everything else. It comes from the love we still have for what’s most important, even when the road is tough.

This mindset shift has changed my life. And it’s why I’ve transitioned to helping other musicians share their stories in a healthier, more sustainable way.

As a ghostwriter for musicians, my mission is simple:

• To help you share your honest thoughts about the industry.

• To keep your fans excited about your work.

• To take the guesswork out of “what to post.”

• To free you from the pressure of constantly creating, so you can focus on what you do best—making music and living your life.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to help.

I’m only accepting 5 more clients for early 2025.
Click here to book your onboarding call: https://forms.gle/gJmZeoGJGDvrKqa66

Let’s redefine what it means to be a musician—together.